


Maybe I Made You Up

by lllsssr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9891272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lllsssr/pseuds/lllsssr
Summary: Bucky sat in the backseat, humming to himself, and the blood that had soaked into the seams of his metal arm a few hours ago now dripped onto the upholstery.***It's the 1950s, and Bucky returns to the HYDRA compound after a mission to find that Steve has been captured, too.





	

            Bucky sat in the backseat, humming to himself, and the blood that had soaked into the seams of his metal arm a few hours ago now dripped onto the upholstery.

            “We’ll get you cleaned up, Soldier,” said the driver. Smith was his name.

            Today was a Thursday in 1958. Bucky had seen it printed on a newspaper in the target’s home, but didn’t have time to skim the articles—he was too busy tripping out the door, into the getaway car now carrying him back to the compound.

            He hummed an upbeat tune.

            “What’s that?” Smith asked, making eye contact through the rearview. “Sounds familiar.”

            Smith liked to talk, ask questions, get Bucky answering. Conversation built the bond between Soldier and handler that built the more effective killing machine.

            “Don’t know, sir,” Bucky said. “Maybe I made it up.” He continued to hum.

            “No, sounds familiar,” Smith said. He snapped his fingers in a “eureka” moment. “That’s Bing Crosby, isn’t it?”

            Bucky shrugged.

            “’Swinging on a Star,’” Smith said. “Where’d you hear that from?”

            “Must have been on the radio.”

            “No.” Smith shook his head. “That song’s at least 10 years old.”

            Bucky shrugged again. What did it matter how old the song was? He kept humming.

            Smith drove and drove, and the world outside was of no consequence, swinging past the windows like the stars in the song until the car crawled into the lot of a Ma and Pa gas station.

            “Be right back,” Smith muttered, climbing out.

            He disappeared into the station for a while, didn’t even buy gas. By the time they were driving again, exhaustion beat itself into Bucky’s eyes and had him yawning.

            “Permission to sleep, sir?”

            “Go ahead,” Smith said, watching carefully through the mirror.

***

            At the compound, Bucky lurched out of the backseat and his legs howled with tightness.

            “Come on. Get moving,” Smith urged.

            Bucky marched into the boring, gray HYDRA building. The hallway swallowed him as usual. He took a left, then another, then a flight of stairs downward, careful not to turn before Smith did, knowing he wasn’t supposed to remember the layout of the building, not with the frequent memory wipes.

            The mouth of his wing stood open to the left. The whole branch was dedicated to him, a surgical room to his health, a shooting range to his skills, barracks to his sleep, and a cryostasis chamber to his hibernation. HYDRA went to ridiculous lengths to keep him tuned-up and under control.

            Smith passed it up.

            “Sir? Where are we headed?” Bucky asked.

            “Boss wants you to meet some people,” Smith said.

            “More soldiers?”

            Sometimes they had Bucky kick in the faces of other soldiers to see if they were worthy assets. Usually they weren’t.

            Smith didn’t answer.

            In a new corridor, Smith opened a door and nodded Bucky inside, so he entered.

            The room was tight and concrete and looked like a prison cell, with a long, dim mirror along the wall, the kind that just happened to be there, with no one watching from the other side, of course. Completely inconspicuous mirror.

            Others stood around. Not soldiers. A middle-aged woman with dark hair and old-world features. Two girls, daughters maybe; they had the same look about them. The only one with any heft was the blond battering ram in civilian clothes.

            Bucky’s chest tightened.

            The door shut behind him. His head snapped to it, then to the mirror, then away—he wasn’t supposed to notice the mirror, goddamn it—then back at the blond.

            The blond stared back. He ducked his head and inched over.

            “Bucky?” the blond said.

            He looked different. It had been over 10 years, after all. But that sold it.  

            He blinked and blinked, his bottom lip quivering. “Steve?” he said.

            Steve nodded.

            “What are you doing here?” Bucky asked. “Who are those girls?”

            Steve glanced at the girls. “You don’t recognize them?”

            Bucky shook his head.

            “Me, neither,” Steve said. “Must have been captured like I was. Like you were.”

            Except Bucky hadn’t been captured—not recently. He had been working obediently under HYDRA for about a decade. He was suddenly scrubbing his hand against his pants to get the blood off before Steve noticed.

            “They—they got you?” Bucky asked. “How? When?”

            “Not important,” Steve said. “What’s important is getting out. We’ve been working on a plan. You ready to help?”

            Bucky nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to.

            Steve gave the older woman a look and she reflected it, then clutched her stomach and doubled over, bawling with pain.

            The girls knelt by her sides. “What is it, Mama?” they said, leaning in and checking and prodding, except one of them was yanking the maintenance panel off the floor underneath the old woman. Looked like the screws had been loosened.

            The girl tugged off her shoe and beat at the wires inside—ripped them up, sparkling, with her fingers.

            The lights flickered and died, soaking them in sudden, tense darkness.

            “Knew that was connected to the lights,” Steve whispered, triumphant. “Let’s check the doors.”

             Footsteps clattered in the dark. Someone grunted as they tried the handle.

             “Still locked,” said a girl.

             Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder—the metal one—and Steve’s breath in his ear. It was odd, almost unfamiliar. It had been too long. He missed it.

             “This arm of yours work?” Steve asked.

            Bucky nodded but no one could see.

            “Get out of the way,” he croaked, voice tight.

            Footsteps receded.

            Bucky tucked his arm against his side and launched at the door, which was outlined by seams of light leaking through from outside.

            It shattered around his bicep into chunks on the floor. Outside, Smith lifted his gun.

            “Cool it, Soldier!”

             Bucky screamed and ducked from Smith’s shots and knocked him to the floor. Stomped on the wrist holding the gun—crushed it.

             He was free. Finally, free.

            “We need to get out of here before guards come,” Bucky said.

            He started down the hall but stopped when Steve grabbed his wrist. He turned Bucky around to face him, smiling, beaming. His smile had changed with all the time Bucky had lost.

            Steve drew him into a hug.

            Bucky tensed, then went limp. His face burrowed into Steve’s shoulder even as the overhead alarm began to scream.

            “I missed you,” Bucky sobbed. “Missed you so goddamn much.”

            Steve said nothing, just squeezed, tighter and tighter. So tight it hurt.

            Boots thundered down the hall. Guards.

            Bucky drew himself up to prepare for a fight, but Steve kept his arms around him.

            “What are you doing?” Bucky said. “Let go. We’ve got to—“

            His ribs creaked as the hug got even tighter.

            “Stop!”

            He wriggled, kicked, even jabbed Steve in the gut, but Steve was made of concrete, no response to the blows.

            “Keep him there, mutt,” said one of the guards.

            They lashed Bucky into enhanced cuffs and finally, Steve let go, throwing him to the floor.

            “Good boy,” said the guard. Then he turned his attention to Bucky. “So Smith was right. You have been lying on the memory tests.”

            Bucky watched Steve and the girls sink into the group of guards.

            The one standing over Bucky continued, “Not too much, though. You didn’t even recognize your own mother and sisters. The lookalikes, at least. I’d say the Rogers one was even worse than them, though.”

            Lookalikes? Those were fakes? HYDRA had gone through the trouble of enlisting actors to play people from his past? Or, even worse, just grabbed a project from the lab, if fake-Steve’s superhuman strength was any indicator.

            Two more guards hauled Bucky to his feet.

            “Get him to the chair,” the leader ordered. “We’ve been holding back on the hardcore memory wipes for his mental stability, but now, we’re not taking any chances.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment if you liked.


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